Page 77 of Innocent Until Proven Witch

The certainty in his voice steadies me. The despair remains. The hurt remains. The anger certainly remains. But beneath all of it, something stronger begins returning.

Resolve.

I squeeze Finn's hand, then look toward the stack of journals. "They framed my family."

Finn nods. "They did."

"They buried the truth."

"They did."

I draw a slow breath, then finally say the words aloud. "Then let's expose them."

A slow smile spreads across Finn's face. The dangerous kind. The one usually followed by trouble.

"Now that sounds like the Reina I know."

His words feel like a delusion but I believe him.

28

FINN

The archive smells like old paper and bad decisions, which is fitting, because I've made plenty of both lately.

I push through the door carrying a stack of folders beneath one arm. Iris looks up from behind her desk, and the moment she sees the amount of paperwork, she narrows her eyes.

"No."

I keep walking. "That's not a greeting."

"It's a warning."

I drop the folders onto the nearest table, dust jumping into the air. Iris stares, then stares some more. "You've brought trouble."

"I brought evidence."

"Same thing." I can't even argue with that.

A second later the archive door opens again, and Gideon steps inside, his gaze moving from me to the table, then to the stack of records, then back to me. "I got your message."

"Good."

Gideon removes his coat, the movement casual, though his expression isn't. He already knows something serious is happening. Nobody summons council members to archives for pleasant conversations.

Iris rises from her chair. "What exactly are we looking at?"

I pull out a chair, then another, then spread several documents across the table—shipping manifests, financial records, merchant registrations, disappearance reports, old council documents, everything we've uncovered so far.

Gideon studies the pile. "This looks concerning."

"Wait until you read it."

That earns a glance. Not an encouraging one.

I slide the oldest records toward them, and the room grows quiet, nothing but pages turning, pens scratching, the distant cry of gulls beyond the windows. Several moments pass, then several more.

Eventually Iris stops reading. Her expression changes first—confusion, then concern, then disbelief. She looks up. "These dates."